Day One
by bj
Summary: If Tuesday, September 11, 2001, happened in the timeline of "The West Wing." I apologise if you think this is callous of me...the question begged to be asked.
1. One

Disclaimer: "The West Wing" and all related materials are the property of Aaron Sorkin, NBC, etc.  
  
Author's Note: I think I wrote this more for my own closure than anything, but here it is.  
  
  
  
Day One  
by BJ Garrett  
  
What happened in the minutes before they heard is unimportant. The world those things happened in no longer exists.  
  
Donna's face, ashen. "What's up?" Josh asked, concern etched on his face. Sam nodded, expectant, a little worried.  
  
"The World Trade Centre is under attack," she said quietly.  
  
"What?" the two men replied slowly, in unison.  
  
She took a deep breath and repeated, "The World Trade Centre is under attack. And Leo wants you five minutes ago."  
  
So they went. Their route to the office is unimportant. The look of stricken awe on CJs face is important, as is the carefully moderated anger in Toby's voice as he said, "Good morning, boys."  
  
"Good morning, Toby," Sam said automatically.  
  
The fact that they were all in shock is important. The correlating fact, that they sprung back into their normal, efficiently eccentric selves as soon as Leo looked up from the hasty faxes he had from New York, is also important. What colour suits they were wearing is not important.  
  
"At 8:45, ten minutes ago, the north tower of the World Trade Centre was involved in a collision with a passenger jet. Currently, the top third of the tower is in flames." He pressed a button on his remote control and a television screen came on. CNN, footage of flames licking a few upper levels of the tower, smoke pluming out into the smoggy sky. A few solid specks fell from the smoke haloing the top of the building.  
  
Not really wanting to know, Sam pointed, asked, "Those things...what are they?"  
  
Leo turned to him, the barrier of detachment that served him so well in these situations up and running. "People jumping out of the building. The elevators are stopped, and the stairwells are full of smoke and fire a few floors down. I would imagine there's no other way out."  
  
Sam nodded, dropped his hand. He hadn't really wanted to know.  
  
Unperturbed, Leo continued. "The President is in with the Joint Chiefs right now, trying to figure out what's happened. CJ, we're making a statement in twenty minutes on the front lawn. We don't know if it wasn't an accident, we don't know who did it, we don't know how many people are injured, we don't know if there's structural damage beyond the obvious. Toby, Sam, we're saying rah-rah America will not stand to be a victim of cowardly terrorists, we're going to find out those in charge of this incident and make them regret it, we're extending all federal aid to New York City in its time of need, etc."  
  
"Rah-rah?" Toby asked, disbelieving.  
  
With a quelling look, Leo replied, "Yes, rah-rah. I know it's not your bag, but hey, people need that sort of thing when stuff like this happens. Josh, you stay with me. Go."  
  
The staff filed out, Josh remained. "Yeah, Leo?"  
  
The older man put the TV on mute, set his remote on the desk before answering. "Get someone from the senate out there. Two from Congress if that's not possible. New York representatives."  
  
"I'm sure I'll have to twist some arms, but okay. Any reason why nobody else could know I'm doing that?"  
  
Turning his back on Josh, Leo shuffled some papers, looking for the faxes from New York. "This is between you, me, the President, and one person from New York for the next fifteen minutes, Josh."  
  
Josh took a step forward. "Are you okay, Leo?"  
  
"Two more planes have diverted from their courses since the collision. Let whoever goes to New York know that, but nobody else. Got me?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
"Good. Go."  
  
He went. The stillness in Leo's office after he left is important. The sunlight that streamed lopsided through the windows and highlighted the brass fittings on his desk is not.  
  
Seven minutes later a plane collided with the south tower.  
  
Everyone filed back into Leo's office without being called. The footage of the plane curving towards the tower and the ridge of flame bubbling out from the other side, the collision itself hidden by the crippled form of Building One, played again and again on the silent TV set.  
  
"You okay, Toby?" Leo asked, back still to the door. Margaret had slipped in to tell him the news. He couldn't bring himself to turn the volume back on.  
  
Toby shrugged, seeming nonchalant. "I'm from Brooklyn. Manhattan matters very little to me, Leo."  
  
"Same game plan," Leo said a few moments later when the shock wore off. "Same game plan. Go."  
  
Again, they went. Things were a little different now. Josh was nervous, and that's important, because nobody noticed, but he thought they did.  
  
  
"The Port Authorities in New York and New Jersey closed all the bridges and tunnels," Donna said, bringing him a cup of coffee between phone calls.  
  
"Well, yeah," he replied, dialling Senator Philips, who hailed from Poughkeepsie.  
  
  
CJ introduced the President at 9:30 and the press stood as he mounted the podium. "Look, we've had our differences in the last few months," he began, looking defiantly haggard, "But it seems the country has suffered an apparent terrorist attack and we're going to be straight with each other for the time being, because no matter what you may think of me personally, I'm the President and I know what's going on, and you're the press and you want to know what's going on." The rest of what he said is unimportant, because the measures he spoke of never happened.  
  
  
After the statement, the staff filtered back into Leo's office, standing mutely, not sure what to say now. They all felt a particular but common sort of helplessness.  
  
The door between Leo's office and Oval Office opened. The President entered, flanked by two Secret Service agents. They swept the room with a single look, seeming to cause the staff to leap to their feet. "We're evacuating the White House," Bartlet announced without preamble. "So let's go."  
  
"What? Why?" Sam stammered, not really wanting to know. His tendency to ask questions he doesn't want the answer to is important.  
  
The President said to Leo, "There are more planes. Two more planes, and we don't know where they're going. Let's go."  
  
Leo nodded then turned to the staff. "Come on, people. Get your computers and your assistants and get out. We've got, what, a plane?" he added, looking at the President, who nodded and went back into his own office. When the staff did not move, Leo prompted, "Get moving. Go."  
  
  
The three dozen Secret Service agents outside looked up at the sound of a plane approaching. They saw the familiar blinking lights, coming down far too quickly in the wrong part of the sky. They looked across the lawns at each other, shrugging.  
  
  
Meanwhile, Leo was on the phone with the FAA. "Yeah, shut 'em down. Divert the incoming internationals." The official on the other end squawked something. "I don't know, Hal, Canada?"  
  
  
The plane's lights disappeared from sight, and a few seconds later, smoke billowed up into the sky.  
  
Eyes widening, they grabbed their earpieces and ran for the White House.  
  
  
"Holy shit," Leo said, voice full of awe. "Where is everybody?"  
  
"Getting on the plane, Mr. McGarry," one of the agents replied. "The President is going downstairs. He wants you with him."  
  
Leo nodded and stood. They escorted him to what was officially an empty office, but was really a set of stairs leading to the underground command centre installed by President Eisenhower.  
  
  
At 9:45 they were the first to board a small twin-engine plane with an eagle roosting on the side. The beak was turned toward the olive branch, but it always is, so that's not important.  
  
Toby sat at the back, looking out the window, an abstract expression on his face. He watched the crowd of White House staff milling around on the portico, kept out of the open by Secret Service men and women with tense, suspicious expressions. Politely moving to the back of the plane since she was second in line, CJ sat beside him and opened her laptop. The colour of the desktop wallpaper is not important. The fact that she just stared at the screen is.  
  
"My sister works in a mailroom in the south tower," he confided in a gruff voice, as if the words were torn from him.  
  
CJ's head tipped back involuntarily, and she stared at the ceiling of the plane instead of the screen of her laptop. "Why didn't you say something?"  
  
"Because my sister works in a mailroom in the south tower. And I work in the White House. And I don't know any more than her kids do."  
  
Her hand stealing around his where it lay on the armrest is important.  
  
What drink Sam had in his hand when he sat down behind Josh is unimportant. "Where did you get that?" Josh asked, looking over his shoulder to find the source of the sound of tinkling ice.  
  
"It's not important," was the reply as Sam put the plastic tumbler in the indent of the armrest and flipped open his laptop.  
  
"You're working?" His voice was disbelieving.  
  
"What else can I do? The President will say something, eventually, and he needs something say."  
  
After a second, Josh turned back around. Then he remarked to the back of the pilot's head, "'Holy fuck, what the hell happened?' isn't good enough?"  
  
"Not for the President of the United States, no."  
  
An attendant (her hair colour isn't important, but the Gulf War campaign medal on her uniform jacket is) asked them politely to put their seatbelts on and sat, doing the same. Five minutes later, the plane took off, two F-15s swerving in to escort them.  
  
  
The President sat in a red armchair, cradling a cup of coffee, ankles crossed. "Abbey's in the air," he said to Leo when the other man entered the antechamber of the command centre.  
  
"I told Hal to divert all international flights to Canada or something, sir." His fingers curved into fists as he watched Jed nod absently. "She's fine, sir. She's on one of our planes."  
  
"They're all our planes, Leo."  
  
He nodded, unable to deny that.  
  
Jed took a sip of coffee. "I wonder how many other people are telling themselves 'she's fine' right now."  
  
"It's not important, sir. Let's get out of here."  
  
  
"Where are we going?" Donna asked, leaning across the aisle.  
  
"Why?" Josh answered wearily  
  
"Because. Where are we going?"  
  
"I don't know."  
  
"I want to know where we're going."  
  
"For God's sake, Donna--"  
  
"I need to know *something*, Josh. Don't get all huffy on me."  
  
Cathy put an arm around her and pulled her close, shaking her head sympathetically at Josh.  
  
"Probably a military base somewhere," Sam supplied, not looking up from his keyboard. "Or a hotel."  
  
"Some options," Toby grated, raising his voice so the others could hear him. "The fucking Pentagon's not even safe"  
  
The pilot's radio squawked and whistled like a parrot, then some codes were exchanged. The pilot's shoulders stiffened. He took up his microphone--the signet ring on his pinkie finger isn't important, but the fact that his hand was shaking is--and said into it, "Ladies and gentlemen, I've been asked to report that the President, and the Chief of Staff have been removed to an undisclosed location," he paused, listening to the radio, then continued in a choked voice, "and the south tower of the World Trade Centre has collapsed."  
  
CJ's hand tightened around Toby's. His eyes squeezed shut.  
  
It was 10:05.  



	2. Two

Disclaimer: "The West Wing" and all related materials belong to Aaron Sorkin, NBC, etc.  
  
  
They were in a helicopter, moving towards some base, secret or otherwise, that had been chosen at random by a computer. "Konrad deployed twenty men into Lafayette Park on a tip from a cab driver," Leo reported, hanging up the phone. It rang again even as he spoke. He considered leaving it for a second, then realised that wasn't an option. A few moments later, he hung up, face white. "Section five of the Pentagon has collapsed," he said in a raspy voice, "and the fourth plane is down in Pennsylvania. A field in Somerset County."  
  
Jed nodded, looking out the window. "Get the UN and tell them--"  
  
"Done. The headquarters, UNICEF, and the development offices have all been evacuated."  
  
"Then get State and Justice on there and--"  
  
"Both empty. Along with the World Bank."  
  
The President turned to Leo. His expression is important, but indescribable. "Okay. So why the hell do I have the damn title, if I can't even tell people to evacuate?"  
  
Leo nodded. "There's still the federal complexes. I'll have to fax them, though. We don't have a phone line for them."  
  
"I don't care if you have to send Paul Revere, Leo. Do it."  
  
  
Manipulating the finger pad of her laptop around the CNN site, CJ announced, "The FAA has confirmation from Canada that all international US-bound flights may be diverted to their airports."  
  
"Damn fine of them," Josh muttered. "Where did you get the scotch, Sam?" he asked the back of the pilot's head.  
  
"Never mind, Josh. How does 'wanton and unprovoked attack on innocents' sound?"  
  
"American innocents. Don't forget to bring the rah-rah."  
  
Sam erased the sentence and started typing again.  
  
CJ cursed quietly. Toby looked over at the screen of her laptop. A grainy photo had just been put up of the north tower collapsing. A thin sliver of steel-spined concrete stood outside the flood of smoke.  
  
"And that's six minutes old," he commented dryly.  
  
She nodded, sobbing quietly.  
  
Realising that she was crying, he put his unattached hand on the one she had gripped around the edge of her laptop. "CJ."  
  
  
"Hoynes is on his way back from Honduras," Leo said, hanging up the phone again.  
  
"Has Abbey landed?"  
  
"She's at Fort Bragg, sir."  
  
"Where are we going?"  
  
"Not Nevada."  
  
"God dammit. Is there an NSC phone line on your magic keypad, Leo?"  
  
"When we land, Mr. President."  
  
  
"Did you know today was primary election day in New York City?" CJ asked no one in particular, wiping her face with a tissue from Toby's pocket. "The day each borough elects its mayoral candidate. Mayor Giuliani has cancelled the election. Postponed it indefinitely."  
  
"Well, yeah," Josh commented into the silence.  
  
She tapped the mouse button a couple of times. "And Israel's evacuating their embassies and consulates."  
  
"Will you put that thing away?" Sam asked quietly, not intending for her to hear. Josh turned in his seat and opened his mouth. "I'm not telling you where I got the drink, Josh."  
  
"Governor Pataki says all the state government offices are closed. Mayor Giuliani's evacuating everything south of Canal Street," Toby said before CJ had a chance. She smiled a little through her slowing tears.  
  
  
The President picked up the handset of the phone while Leo was out of the compartment, inspecting the cryptically labelled buttons crowding its face.  
  
"What are you doing, sir?"  
  
"I want to call my wife, Leo."  
  
"Sit down and I'll see what I can do."  
  
"No, Leo. Tell me how to get Fort Bragg on here," he waved the receiver around a little bit, for emphasis.  
  
Studying Jed's delicately hunched shoulders, Leo considered. "There could be a chemical agent on the planes, sir."  
  
He looked up suddenly, interest piqued. "Yeah?"  
  
"CDC should probably get out there."  
  
Surveying the buttons once again, Jed nodded. "Which one?"  
  
"Third row down, second in."  
  
"This one?"  
  
"Yeah."  
  
  
It was a hotel. Toby, CJ, Sam, and Josh were herded into a limo and spirited away.  
  
"So we're going to be gone for a while?" Josh asked, leaning to open the minibar.  
  
Toby held it shut with his foot, looking over CJ's arm at her laptop. "Maybe," he replied.  
  
Turning to look at him, CJ pushed his head away from her shoulder and asked, "Where's your computer, Toby?"  
  
He shrugged, settling closer again. "I'm sure Ginger's taking care of it." CJ rolled her eyes and disconnected from the internet.  
  
At Toby's grumble, she pointed across the car at Sam, who was silently hunched over his own keyboard. "Go use his. Now that the flights are confirmed and the dust is settling a little--"  
  
"Metaphorically, of course," Josh interjected, kicking Toby's steadfast foot and sitting beside Sam.  
  
"--I need to get to work," she finished, sending Josh a glance of rebuke.  
  
"What are those flight figures, by the way?" Sam inquired, looking up, the eerie blue glow of the screen reflected in his glasses. "I want to use them for dramatic impact," he explained, even though no one had asked why.  
  
His penchant for giving more information than is asked of him is important.  
  
  
LAX evacuated. SFO evacuated.  
  
Nothing happened there. It's not important.  
  
  
"Close the borders?" Leo asked, surprised.  
  
Nancy was silent on the other end of the line.  
  
The conference room of the 'undisclosed location' was as lushly appointed as modern military fashion would allow. Bartlet closed his eyes and tapped the end of his pen on the table, pretending it was a cigarette.  
  
"I think that's a bad idea," he said into the silence.  
  
Nancy remained silent, but her irritation was palpable despite the fact that she was in Virginia and they were...not.  
  
"If we seal ourselves off, for one thing, the Vice President is not going to be able to get back into the country--"  
  
"Vice President Hoynes has already landed at Lauderdale, sir," Jack corrected him from North Carolina.  
  
"Fine, then," Bartlet amended. "Whatever help we can elicit from--I don't know where--Canada is going to be useless if they can't even get down here--"  
  
"Of course, diplomatic and rescue crews are a different matter altogether, sir," Nancy interrupted. "Look, Mr. President--"  
  
"Thank you, Nancy, for that reminder. I am the President, and I say put the borders on Alert One. Both of them. All necessary identification to get in, a damn good reason to get out. Do inform the INS of this decision, please, Leo. Thank you all for your time." He stood and walked away from the table.  
  
The National Security Council chorused, "Thank you, Mr. President," from four different states.  
  
  
This is not important.  
  
  
At 1:04 the undisclosed location was revealed as Ft. Madison, in Missouri.  
  
Drawn but defiant, the President held the edges of his podium and spoke with semi-gritted teeth for forty-two seconds.  
  
"All appropriate security measures are being taken. The military of the United States has been put on high alert worldwide, and I want to state categorically that once the identities of the individuals, organisation or state responsible for this vicious attack on the values of all western nations--this vicious attack on democracy and freedom--once the perpetrators are identified, they will be brought to swift, unflinching justice. I ask that the prayers and good will of the world be directed to the victims of these attacks and their families. God bless America."  
  
  
Looking up from his laptop, Sam frowned as Josh whistled and said, "You sure he needs you to write something for him, Sam?"  
  
"Shut up," CJ spat, hitting him on the shoulder and leaning toward the TV. "They're going to the mayor of DC."  
  
A few moments later, she sat back, sinking into the three layers of pillows on the hotel bed.  
  
"If there's a state of emergency in Washington, when are we going back?" Sam asked hesitantly.  
  
Toby launched himself from his chair and left the room silently, shutting the door firmly.  
  
CJ pushed Josh out of the way and followed.  
  
Sam and Josh looked at each other and shrugged. Sam bent back over the laptop while Josh went to the wet bar by the window, the spectacular view of the Jersey shore offered by which is unimportant.  
  
He cursed as the cabinet doors proved locked.  
  
  
"Baker said what?" Leo said, glancing at Bartlet's rigid back as Lennox repeated his colleague's statement. "No, no," he interrupted, "five warships, not three. Out of Norfolk. Yes, all of them. The carriers too. Washington and Kennedy, man. Yes, for the nostalgic value, you moron," he added sarcastically. "Send those two to New York. The others, put them on patrol along the seaboard. Yes. I'm relaying the President's wishes, I'll have you know. I could give him the phone and he could tell you the same thing but much less politely. Okay. You're welcome. Goodbye."  
  
He hung up with an incredulous expression. "You'd think these guys didn't know how to take orders or something."  
  
Bartlet was looking out the window, concern creasing his forehead. "We're going to Maine, right?"  
  
"In fifteen minutes, yeah. Get your coat on."  
  
"I want to stop in New York."  
  
Leo paused mid-movement as he drew on his own jacket. "What?"  
  
"I want to stop in New York," the President repeated, turning to give his friend a steely glare.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because it's my damn country. I want to see it live, Leo."  
  
The other man shook his head slowly. "No, sir, I'm afraid not. The security--"  
  
With an explosion of anger and grief, Jed swept a vase off the table under the window. It shattered a few feet away, the pieces tinkling into silence as if embarrassed  
  
Leo let the left arm of his jacket dangle to the floor as he stared at his President.  
  
Taking a deep breath, he said quietly, "The security doesn't work, Leo. That much is brutally clear. It didn't work in Rosslyn, and it didn't work this morning. As I've been reminded several times today while being told to shut up and accept predetermined protocols, I am the goddamn President of the United States. We're stopping in New York. And you're bringing my wife and children to the White House PDQ."  
  



	3. Three

Disclaimer: "The West Wing" and all related materials belong to Aaron Sorkin, NBC, etc.  
  
  
Barely distracted from more looped footage--the impacts, the collapses, preliminary aerial and land video of the site--Josh tried to listen to the attractive anchor woman as she told him, "Senior FBI officials informed CNN National Security correspondent David Ensor that they are working on the assumption that the four planes involved in today's fatal collisions were hijacked as part of a terrorist attack."  
  
"Well, yeah," he replied dazedly.  
  
Sam smiled wearily, hitting 'save' triumphantly. "Finished. Where's Toby?"  
  
"He left with CJ. Do you think she's single?"  
  
"CJ?"  
  
"This CNN chick."  
  
Giving the brittle-faced young woman a cursory glance as he got up from the bed, Sam said, "Not for you."  
  
  
Setting his cup back on the table, Toby shook his head. "I can't call them."  
  
"They need to hear from you," CJ insisted gently. "You have to."  
  
He pressed a hand to his cheek and looked out the window, muttering, "What can I tell them but 'yeah, this sucks?'"  
  
She folded her slender hands around his coffee cup, trapping his left hand. His wedding band felt clammy under her palm. This is important. "How about just saying hi and seeing where it goes from there? It's your family, Toby. You don't have to have a prepared statement covering all political bases."  
  
"Why not? I'm good at those," he complained halfheartedly, glancing at her as she squeezed his hand reassuringly.  
  
  
Since it was Friday before anyone flew again, it really doesn't matter that the FAA cancelled all commercial air traffic until noon EDT on Wednesday.  
  
  
"How callous is that?" Josh asked Sam disbelievingly as a Giuliani considered his answer to 'what do you think the death toll will be?'  
  
Sam nodded.  
  
As flashbulbs popped, the mayor replied with a disgusted look on his face. "I don't think we want to speculate about that--it's more than any of us can bear."  
  
"At least bus and subway service are restored," Josh said flippantly, going back to the wet bar. "You sure you don't have the key for this thing?"  
  
Sam shook his head.  
  
They were ushered back outside shortly thereafter. There was no minibar in this car.  
  
  
Marine One touched down two blocks from ground zero, sending up a cloud of dust. Disregarding the plastic overcoat Leo held out to him, the President disembarked and started walking south with two Secret Service agents on either side. A dozen FBI field agents were strung up and down the sidewalk.  
  
They walked slowly down the middle of the wide street, dust settling on their suits and caking the soles of their shoes. Following at a faster pace, Leo snapped on a white facemask and unwrapped one for Bartlet.  
  
The President swallowed his coughs stoically, but fit the mask over his mouth when Leo offered it to him.  
  
Off-white particles of dust grabbed his eyelashes as he craned his neck, looking up at the cracked windows of nearby buildings, approaching the rubble-heaped gap in the skyline. Black and yellow striped ants scurried over the wreckage. Ambulances were parked six deep on all sides of the site, as close as they could get.  
  
Rubbing the dust from his forehead, Bartlet suppressed another cough. The dust was thicker in the air here. The sun filtered through it, spilling over the dulled scene as if it were underwater.  
  
As they threaded their way through emergency vehicles and the quickening movement of rescue workers with survivors and bodies, a few people looked over at them curiously.  
  
Then a fully suited firefighter, standing watch as a body bag was zippered, recognised him under the mask and the dust.  
  
"Holy shit," the young man breathed, coming closer, "It's the goddamn President."  
  
One of the bodyguards stopped him with a look. "Sorry," he said reverently. Then a dazzling white grin split his soot-blackened face. "I knew you'd come," he shouted as they moved on, the President's gaze not flickering from the piles of concrete a few yards away.  
  
Leo nodded at the firefighter as he passed him. He'd known it too.  
  
  
"The President is where?" CJ asked, aghast, as she climbed from the car back at the White House.  
  
"In New York," Carol replied, handing her a fax. "They're waiting for you."  
  
  
Toby severed himself from the group as they made their way to the Press Room, walking down the oddly quiet and nearly deserted hallways of the West Wing to his office. He closed and locked the door and sat behind his desk, pulling the phone in front of him with both hands.  
  
After a moment, he picked up the receiver and dialled long distance to Brooklyn.  
  
  
"The President is at an undisclosed location right now, conducting a National Security Council meeting by phone. Vice President Hoynes is at Barksdale Air Force Base in Louisiana. National Security Advisor McNally is at a secure location here at the White House, as is Secretary of State Berryhill. Secretary of Defence Hutchinson is at the Pentagon, preparing to hold a briefing. I'll now take questions. Yes, Marianne?"  
  
  
Sam hooked his laptop up to the printer backstage in the Press Room and printed out his speech. "I think he'll like it," he confided to Josh, who was drinking spring water from a paper cone.  
  
"Hopefully, yeah."  
  
  
There was no answer.  
  
  
"Josh?"  
  
"Yes, CJ?" He did a little end zone dance as the cone hit the wastebasket.  
  
She waited until he was done and she had his attention again. "I'd like you to speak to John King."  
  
"The guy that's always trying to sneak onto my schedule?"  
  
"He's the Senior White House Correspondent for CNN, but sure."  
  
  
Marine One was utterly, utterly silent as it continued on to Maine. Jed scribbled on the backs of faxes from the Pentagon.  
  
  
Toby put down his phone and turned on his TV. The dial tone rang in his ears.  
  
  
"Ensor says--"  
  
"There are good indications it was bin Laden. New and specific information."  
  
"Are you okay, Sam?" CJ asked carefully.  
  
He looked at her hollowly. "I'm fine. You know, I'm fine. Yeah. The World Trade Centre just blew up, but I'm fine."  
  
"You didn't know anyone...did you?"  
  
"I'm not sure," he shrugged. "It's possible, I guess. That's not the point. I'm full of images and sound bites and I'm really really tired, CJ."  
  
As if to reassure him, she said, "Governor Davis is dispatching the urban search-and-rescue teams--"  
  
Lifting his head from his chest, Sam shouted, "That's what I'm talking about! It's too much information! Just shut up! Everybody!"  
  
  
"You're telling me, Bob," Bartlet scoffed at the television in Maine. "Bob Graham says he's not surprised by the attack, but he's surprised at the specificity. Shocked at the extent of what actually happened. No kidding. This man speaks for the country, Leo."  
  
"Jed, that'd better be sarcasm I'm hearing," Abbey warned from the doorway.  
  
He turned his head and their eyes met. What they said next is not important because, well, it's private.  
  
  
The facts rolled through CJ's head as she stared at Sam after his outburst. The ASE, Nasdaq, and NYSE remaining closed until Thursday. The number of critically injured in New York was reported as 200, with 2 100 injuries in total. 50 flights in US airspace reported that they weren't experiencing any trouble.  
  
Slowly, the staff milling around in the back of the Pres Room started moving again, speaking very softly.  
  
Looped footage played over and over in her mind's eye. Faces, blood, ambulances, a tsunami of dust, impact, explosion, fire trucks, shocked officials, strained eyes, faces, blood, ambulances...  
  
CJ is a fact-based person. This is important.  
  
  
Leo pulled down the divider on Marine One to give the President and First Lady some privacy. "The kids will be there when we land, right?" he asked the pilot.  
  
"That's what I'm hearing from the ground, Mr. McGarry," the young woman replied, "Please have a seat and fasten your belt, sir, we'll be in DC in no time."  
  
  
Fires were still burning in the Pentagon. No death figures had been released.  
  
"Sam, I'm sorry."  
  
He shook his head. "No, I shouldn't have yelled like that. I need some coffee. You?"  
  
CJ shrugged and they started walking towards the mess together.  
  
  
Watching live footage as Building 7 collapsed, Toby reached for his phone again.  
  
  
John King held onto his earpiece and said, "Officials say the plane that crashed in Pennsylvania could have been headed for three possible targets: Camp David, the White House, or the Capitol building."  
  
  
Josh fumbled for his chair and sat heavily. His hands started shaking and he let out a low cry as tears rolled down his face.  
  
  
"We have nothing to do with it, Leo," Nancy assured him when she picked up the phone.  
  
"I should hope not," he replied angrily. "Since the President didn't tell you to blow up bloody Kabul."  
  
She sighed. "It's probably the Northern Alliance. They're having a war with the Taliban, you know."  
  
"Yes, I know, Nancy. Thank you."  
  



	4. Four

Disclaimer: "The West Wing" and all related materials are the sole property of Aaron Sorkin, NBC, etc.  
  
  
Hearing choking sounds, Donna cracked open Josh's door. As she realised the noise was coming from him, she rushed in and knelt beside his chair, reaching for his face.  
  
"Are you okay, Josh?"  
  
He grabbed her hand. "I just realised, Donna...the world is over. This is...it's day one of never..."  
  
She shook her head. "It's day one of a new world, Joshua. We're still here. The world's not over."  
  
"Nothing will ever be normal again..."  
  
"Nothing ever was."  
  
  
"I'm okay, Janelle. Have you...have you heard from your mom yet?" Toby cleared his throat to fill the silence after his question.  
  
"Sure, of course, Uncle Toby," his teenaged niece replied with confusion. "She's at B'nei Israel Hospital...she fell trying to get out of the building and sprained her ankle."  
  
He leaned over, resting his head on his desk, choked with relief.  
  
"The Mayor said we should stay home tomorrow, but we have to pick Mom up," she continued. "They're keeping her overnight because she wouldn't talk or anything for awhile...I hope she's all right. Dad wouldn't take me to the hospital to see her."  
  
Finding his voice, Toby said, "I'm sure she's fine...I'm sure of it."  
  
  
"I'll turn it off if you want," CJ offered as they sat down in the mess, gesturing to the set mounted in the corner.  
  
"No," Sam replied, peeling a section of skin off his orange. "I want to hear this."  
  
"...As you can see, the building is fine, we're having a press conference in it, and we'll be in business tomorrow," Hutchinson assured the gaggle of reporters who had rushed to the Pentagon after CJ's briefing.  
  
  
Fifteen minutes later, ignoring the cameras and reporters at the landing pad, the President, First Lady, and Chief of Staff disembarked from Marine One and strode up the lawn to the portico outside the Oval Office.  
  
CJ and Sam greeted them on the portico with handshakes and solemn nods. She told the President they were preparing for him to speak at 8:30. He nodded and looked at Sam, who nodded back reassuringly.  
  
The President patted his breast pocket and gestured for everyone to go inside.  
  
  
Toby didn't bother knocking on Josh's door before he opened it.  
  
Donna dabbed at Josh's wet cheeks, murmuring in a low voice.  
  
Toby closed the door again and went to the Oval Office.  
  
  
"Larsen's had the FBI set up a website, and a toll-free number for friends and family of possible victims to leave contact info with them," Leo reported.  
  
Bartlet nodded, rubbing one of Abbey's hands. "Where are the kids?"  
  
"Upstairs, Mr. President."  
  
As Toby entered, CJ asked him, "How did it go?"  
  
Subdued joy lightening his heavy features, he nodded. "Good."  
  
"Good," she replied, trying miserably not to smile. This is important.  
  
Leo cleared his throat. "When the subtext and inside conversations are over, we have a staff meeting going on here." He turned back to the President. "The Marriott is on the verge of collapse, apparently--"  
  
"Isn't that where Michael and George had their commitment ceremony?" Jed asked Abbey absently.  
  
"Yes," she replied, smiling commiseratingly at Leo.  
  
Jed hmmed. "Now it's falling down...kind of a perfect metaphor for their relationship."  
  
  
At 7:43, the President was about to explain to Sam that while his speech was excellent, he had prepared something of his own.  
  
Mayor Giuliani started relinquishing some death numbers, though, so they got distracted.  
  
"The NYPD reports at least 78 officers missing, and we expect at least half the first 400 firefighters on the scene were killed in the collapses."  
  
And sweeping away Sam's best work suddenly didn't seem so important.  
  
  
Josh smiled weakly at Sam as he made his appearance in the Oval Office.  
  
"You look horrible," Sam remarked brilliantly.  
  
Shrugging, Josh took a sip of water from another paper cone. "I'm sorry about my behaviour today...I think I was in a little bit of shock. I shouldn't--"  
  
Sam cut him off, raising a hand. "We all are. Don't worry about it. But I'm glad you told me."  
  
  
The camera was rolled in, the lights wired, the TelePrompTer hooked up, the President's statement fed into it. Sam folded up his speech and put it in his pocket. Toby and CJ leaned against a decorative chest of drawers, sharing a last cup of coffee before the broadcast began. Josh was in his office, CNN muted on his set, speaking quietly to his mother. The President sat reluctantly in a make-up chair while Abbey left to go upstairs and sit with her children and granddaughter. Leo stood beside the mirror, advising the artist.  
  
  
His eyes were sharp, his voice was strong, his intentions and emotions were clear, visible, sympathetic.  
  
  
"You may have heard the rumour that I visited ground zero in New York today. I did. Marine One landed two blocks from the site, and against the advice of dozens of advisors and my best friend, I walked to the place where the World Trade Centre Towers used to stand. I was there when the towers opened twenty years ago, and all I can tell you about that day was the wine was lousy. All I can tell you about today is that the buildings are gone.  
  
"The buildings are gone. Quite frankly, I think we can live without the buildings. The people, though--it's the people inside them we're going to have a hell of a time living without. Mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, husbands, wives, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends and lovers--those are people we can't live without. But this is America; it is the land of the brave and the home of the free. We are Americans, and we must not only live without them, we must live up to the expectations of our country. We must be brave and we must remain free.  
  
"It will be difficult. We will not always succeed, but courage is being afraid and still doing what you have to do. I am afraid, but I will do what I have to do as your President.  
  
"With the assistance, which as already begun to comfort us in our time of need, of so many nations from every corner of the globe, of every race and creed and no matter what their history with the United States, we shall overcome the barbaric tactics of a faceless enemy.  
  
"Right now, it is not the criminals who deserve your attention, though. It is the victims. While I am firm in my resolve to rebuild the buildings, the lives are impossible for me to rebuild, I am only a man. I ask you, my fellow Americans, to pray for those stricken by this tragedy, and to donate all that you can, even that may only be a pint of blood or a quarter at the corner store.  
  
"We are one nation, indivisible, under God. I ask you all to remember that. We cannot lash out at each other in this time of horror, be the difference one of race, religion, or politics. We must stand united. We shall stand united.  
  
"We shall struggle to be brave, and we shall stand firm in our freedom.  
  
"We will oppose oppression, and we will not be crippled by terror. The men and women who perpetrated these horrendous acts will feel the sting and burn of the justice of the brave and the free.  
  
"Goodnight. God bless America."  
  
  
The End of Day One.  
  
  
A/N: I don't intend to continue this story any further, actually. It stands as is. I started out with the goal of chronicling September 11th, 2001, as a day in the Bartlet administration, and I've done that. I appreciate the sentiment, though:)  
-BJ Garrett  



End file.
